


Unstoppable Force, Immovable Object

by sxetia



Category: Final Fantasy X
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Campfires, Character Study, Drabble, During Canon, Gen, Inconsequential Canon Divergence, Missing Scene, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 09:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30070458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxetia/pseuds/sxetia
Summary: Separated from the rest of the Guardians by Sin's attack on Lake Macalania, Auron and Rikku make camp in the deserts of Bikanel.
Relationships: Auron & Rikku (Final Fantasy X Series)
Kudos: 10





	Unstoppable Force, Immovable Object

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tome/gifts).



> commissioned by [arden.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tome)

Auron has wandered the rolling plains of Bikanel once before — but the years pass by more quickly than he is capable of matching, and along with them goes memory and the distant threads of familiarity. If any reliable acquaintanceship with this desert was left alive, then Auron has made sure to poison it with the copious amounts of alcohol that he has imbibed in his decade of undeath and drowned it along with his sorrow.

Frank as can be and teeth grit through the pain of beating an already-bruised pride, Auron is lost: there is sand before him, sand behind him, and sand at all sides. He has gotten up and aimlessly paced simply to make sure that he can still walk — there is no need for a dead man to mourn broken bones, but an eternity in suspended animation is an eternity wasted and a duty unfulfilled — and eventually comes to a dead stop in dead silence. A single eye traces rolling hills and a gloved finger traces the mouth of his jug (cork stayed in tight in spite of Sin throwing him halfway across the ocean, which made him breathe a quiet sigh of relief). Flick of a thumb, mouth to mouth, stale and bitter taste. He has heard that in times of desperation alcohol will only hasten impending doom, but it is a volatile cocktail of reckless confidence and undead detachment that keeps him reliant on his vice.

A single rock near his feet serves as a marker: he eyeballs it and studies it for a moment before picking a direction and walking.

It is hours before he finds her.

The sun eventually sets. Punishing heat and lament for his longcoat trades places with frigid cold and a reluctant wish that he'd packed _another_ — nerves are still alive and well even if he'll never freeze to death. His will is iron, but his body contracts cold equally as easily.

Eventually he happens upon footsteps in the sand perpendicular to his own path, barely illuminated in the dull glow of the moonlight. He stops to study them and looks to his right, then his left, then his right again. Settles on left, turns and follows — and with time he spots an insect-sized silhouette atop a plain on the horizon, hunched over and shivering and desperately attempting to force a pile of refuse into submitting.

The voice is unmistakable. "Come on…! Come _on…!_ " A curse in the tongue of the Al Bhed and the sound of palms slapping against thighs. He draws near — undercurrent of black mages' chants, memetic residue of cultures and practices long past. " _Fire, fi-ra, fi-ra-ga, fi-ra-ja, fire…_ " Her Al Bhed accent slurs the incantations just enough to soil the ritual — an unmistakable indicator of her lack of practice and novice skills. Auron is not a black mage, but he has been around for long enough that he is familiar with the practice and the level of finesse necessary to master it. Rikku is quick on her feet and an adept pickpocket, but nimble fingers are far from the mental toolset one must navigate the dark arts with.

Auron cannot decide if he should intervene or wait for her to give up. It is likely that Rikku will give up the very next second, and it is equally likely that Rikku will continue her strained efforts until the sun comes up or the cold takes her — whichever comes first.

However, she surprises Auron with a third maneuver: huddled over her little pile of driftwood and dead plant life, sparks materialize from thin air — a gift from the Pyreflies, either pity for her efforts or a rare bout of genuine competence. It shouldn't come as a shocking turn, he figures: Rikku has already mastered the art of alchemy, and so manipulating another layer of reality should come naturally.

It evidently surprises Rikku, even so: as her little fire begins to grow and consume the bed she had made for it her jaw goes slack and her eyes grow wide as a pair of Bombs. Then, celebration: she hops up into a standing position and ricochets her heel off the sand, limbs flailing this way and that as she vocalizes in simple, childlike glee. Besaid's common tongue is interspersed unintelligibly with bouts of Al Bhed and wordless noises, jumping and spinning and reveling in the pride of a job well done. That is a yield even Rikku finds palpably rewarding.

She spins, lands, and then spins again, her happy dance bringing her halfway around the fire pit until she makes face-first contact with Auron's coat and knocks herself back onto the sand. When she pushes herself up she is dumbfounded by the stranger, and even more dumbfounded when she realizes that he is _not_ a stranger.

 _"Auron?"_ Not quite disbelief. More confusion at the presence of Auron specifically.

"It would seem so." He is quiet, as Bikanel is silent save for the fire and the distant roll of the waves. This does not spare him from the fate of Rikku's constant shout.

"How long've you been here?"

Chin and mouth dipping behind a collar, curious glare from behind a dark, stained lense. "How long do you think?"

Her cheeks puff up. Rikku starts with a pompous _"Well,"_ and does not bother to stand up again. She pivots on her behind in the sand to face the fire and begins piling bits of kindling onto it, upward motions with her hands inviting the hungry flames to breathe as much air as they'd like.

"I was kinda… trying to get a fire going for a really long time. Didn't actually expect to be here for all that long, y'know?"

When she realizes that Auron is still standing and staring she inverts her fan-hand movements into a _come-hither,_ then pats the sand next to her. Auron contemplates, makes an amused noise, and humors her: blade stuck upright in the ground and legs crossed before the fire. He watches the embers carefully as he listens, orange light reflecting in his glasses.

"Then it started getting _real_ cold _real_ fast, and that was almost as scary as a thunderstorm. 'Cause, um, I'm not really equipped to deal with the cold, y'know?" A vague, imprecise gesture at her bare-bones outfit. "So I started running, 'cause I live out here and I know how to get back home — not just home but to Home, where most of the Al Bhed live — and I figure if I moved real fast I could get back to Home before it got dark. But then it did get dark and I couldn't really navigate in the dark so I thought I was just gonna die and I cried a bit but then I remembered—… hey, old man, are you even _listening?_ "

"Intently." Auron tells the truth, but turns his head so that his solitary eye focuses on Rikku instead of the fire.

"Okay, cool! You'd better be 'cause I'll bonk you right on the head with my pinwheel if you're not. But what was I saying? Oh, right—… the other night in an inn I was bored and complaining about it so miss Lulu taught me some simple Black Mage stuff. I kinda suck at it but not so bad that I didn't think it was worth tryin' out, y'know? So I grabbed some stuff from dead plants and old junk and crap that's scattered all over this place and I made a neat little pile and I swear I was chanting for a good hour or so before I got some sparks going. And here we are now, and here _you_ are now!"

The mile-a-minute monologue is given a coda of arms sprawled out in grandeur, a silent _ta-da_ marked by the grin on her face. But, of course, it isn't really over. Rarely is with Rikku.

Incredibly, Auron hasn't missed a beat and managed to comprehend the entirety of Rikku's little story — nothing to add to it, though Rikku doesn't give him the chance to do so anyways.

"Speakin' of, have you seen any of the others? I woke up here all alone." Pout.

Auron shakes his head. "I wouldn't be surprised if many of them ended up in the ocean only to wash ashore some time later. I landed just shy of the beach — southernmost, if memories of ten years ago serve."

"Oh… that sucks. Wait—" Rikku's disappointment (and worry, evident in how she creases her brow and tightens her lips into a puckered circle) is cut off by sudden investment in Auron's past. "Memories? Ten _years_ ago? You've been to Bikanel before?!" Jaw drops again. Auron nods his head and looks skyward.

"Yuna's pilgrimage is not my first as a Guardian. In my youth I traveled in a group of three — myself, Braska and Jecht. The father of our Summoner and the father of our newest Guardian, respectively."

Through his peripherals Auron can catch Rikku squirming in place uncomfortably. She reveals a little chain of beads from within one of her vest's pockets and begins to fidget with it — thumbs rolling wheels and clacking squares together. The sound is lost in the cracking of the fire.

"So… you were there for Braska's final Summoning, right?"

"Indeed." He looks down and retrieves a plank of eons-old wood from Rikku's pile and feeds the firepit with it. 

"And you know what's gonna happen to Yunie if she goes through with it."

"I suppose that I do." A matter of faith — faith in himself to see his duty through to the end, faith in Braska's faith in his daughter, faith in Yuna to be the one to finally bring about change. To end the spiral. An exhale through his nose — humorless attempt at a laugh. When he looks at Rikku again it becomes clear that she didn't hear the noise or didn't understand it.

"And you're just—… okay with it?" That discontented spasm again. She's plucking the beads apart one by one, moving them from one end of her length of thread to the other. 

Auron doesn't attempt to offer an answer, instead offering a deadpan glare. Blink, blink, one eyelid joining its brother in brief flashes.

It is clear that his silence tortures Rikku more than any answer ever could. She draws her knees close to her chest and clenches the beads tight in her fist. "Why do you… go through with something like this over and over again if you know it isn't right and you know it'll just end with you getting hurt and somebody dying? It's—… it's not right, y'know?"

"I made a promise," he says, calm as the still wind. "To Braska for his daughter's happiness. To Jecht, for his son to become the man that he never was." Rikku makes herself small, hunched over with chin on her knees. "I gave my word — without my word I have no honor, and without my honor I am nothing. Yuna has made it her purpose in life to carry her father's flame, and the boy has made it his own to protect her. It is not my place to question their dreams, nor is it yours."

"But he doesn't even _know,_ does he!?" Suddenly Rikku explodes, lurched forward with limbs splayed out at her sides. "He doesn't know that Yunie's gonna get to Zanarkand and fight Sin and die! And if he knew he wouldn't be going along with all of this, y'know?!" 

Auron bites the inside of his cheek and hums. "Perhaps not — but he'll learn in due time, whenever the opportunity arises. And not you nor I can predict how his commitment might or might not change in the face of unobfuscated truth."

"Well—… you've known him for like a billion years, right?" A squint, finger jabbed out at Auron like she'd caught him stealing (ironic). "What do _you_ think he'll do? You think he'll let her die?"

"I doubt he'll become the man that I once was. I put forth every effort in raising him to ensure that." The tension begins to build inside Auron's chest — quiet doubt, image of Jecht's claws wrapped so tight 'round his son that all of Auron's efforts to pull him free would be for naught. But he has his faith. In the end, that is _all_ that Auron has.

Rikku does not appear satisfied with that answer; she twists her lips and makes herself into a ball again. Rather than fight him, she changes the subject. "I… I get what you mean about promises. Kinda. Maybe. I dunno if it's the same way in Bevelle, but—… for Al Bhed people a promise is like giving a little piece of yourself to somebody, y'know? And if you break it it's like you lose that part of yourself."

Auron nods his head — slowly. "Indeed. I've lost parts of myself for far too long now, far too frequently. Rather not do it again."

"Like your eye? Or your arm?"

Smirk. "Like my eye or my arm."

The noise Rikku releases suggests contentment with his answer, and all is calm for a few minutes. There is nothing but a ravenous campfire, a man tending to it, and the ethereal warmth of company. Auron drinks in the silence. Rikku drowns in it. She remains in her little ball, fidgeting and shifting and squirming, until finally she speaks.

"Auron?"

"Yes?"

"...I'm cold."

He quirks a brow and focuses on her — realizes that her squirming and curling is in actuality shivering and her attempts at huddling with herself. Stare, studying, and then standing. Auron undoes the buckles around his single tightened cuff and then does the same for his obi. The coat falls into a massive crimson silhouette as it loosens from his towering frame, his lank arm falling loosely at his side in tandem. Then it is off of him, and given to her.

She blinks, dumbfounded, but does not reject his offer — needy little hands clasp around the fabric of one cuff. A little flinch as her fingers graze his now-bare wrist. Rikku immerses herself in a garment in a garment that Auron has lived in for the past decade-and-some-change — far too big, falling in a loose puddle all around her with her chin barely poking out of the collar.

Hesitation. "You're sure? ...aren't you going to get cold too?"

"I'm always cold. Why else would I wear such clothing in Spira of all climates?" 

"I mean, no kidding, you felt like you were freezing cold just now. Like you're a big icicle, y'know?" A glance down. "You've got long pants though, so you're better off than me." And that grin again, the one that Auron is growing increasingly fond of.

"Regardless: better?"

"Yeah, a lot better."

"Then I've no complaints." Auron settles back down in his seat, and then goes for the effort of unclasping and removing his collar — folds it and tucks it away beside his sword. Face on display now so that Rikku can take in his ugliness; an earned ugliness born of stubborn determination and slow-burn sorrow.

"Jeez… how old _are_ you anyways, old man?"

"Old enough. Or perhaps a touch _too_ old." Shuts his eye, and then opens it to look at her with his mangled grin. "What do you think?"

"I dunno. I can't really imagine you being any younger, though, y'know? It's like you've been an old man for all of your life."

Exact opposite, Auron thinks — had to die before he ever became old. "I was young, once. Much more bullheaded and impulsive in temperament. Quite a bit dumber as well, but one must start there before growing wise. I don't regret growing old, but I also don't regret who I was." 

Most of it seems to go right over Rikku's head. "Well, think about it this way: can you picture me as an old lady?"

Looked at her, humored the thought, then made a face like a sturgeon. "No."

"See? That's what I'm getting at."

"Yet it's as inevitable as being young."

"Well, maybe, unless I die before I get old or something."

"Mm." Said nothing, expressed nothing, quietly humor in how loudly and proudly wrong she was.

The cold bites at Auron's now-exposed skin — no need to hold concern for body heat when his heart hasn't beat in years, but that doesn't make it pleasant. Luckily, that is exactly what his jug is for. Auron takes it, tugs the cap off and begins to take a drink — only for Rikku to interrupt once more.

"Hey, I want some. I'm thirsty."

Lowers the jug, scrunches his face up. "Do you not have water packed?"

"Drank it all on the way here."

The scent of the alcohol burns his nose. Teases him. "This isn't the sort of drink that'll quench thirst."

"Oh, so _that's_ why this thing stinks so much." Rikku snickers and extends her arms out, hands not peeking out of too-long sleeves.

No answer. "I doubt you're old enough to be imbibing this, also."

"I totally am!"

"And how old are you?" Half to prove a point, half genuine curiosity.

"Old enough. Or maybe a touch _too_ old, y'know?" Shit-eating grin for her, and a smirk for him — but not one broad enough to make him budge. "No." (It is not entirely Auron’s moral compass that guides his decision; he does not know when he will next be able to refill the jug. Needs to ration it out.)

Rikku frowns and sticks out her lower lip. A valiant effort, but none more than Auron is steadfast and stoic. “Hmph…” Arms around her stomach as she curls up, making a ball out of herself and hiding in the collar of his coat. It is enough to grant Auron the peace necessary to take a slow drink, savor it, and be alone with himself for a few moments.

Company rears its head again. “Hey.”

Eye opens again, though he keeps the jug close to his lips. “Yes?”

“Sorry to ask again, but… it’s botherin’ me, y’know?”

Jug in his lap. “I’m listening.”

“You’re not… you’re not going to let Yunie die. Right?”

A deep breath, redundant as it may be. Rikku will not be satisfied until she is given an answer that aligns closely with her own, but she is also intelligent enough to see through a lie. Auron turns his head to face her. “You wouldn’t allow it, would you?”

“I mean—… no, of course not…”

“And we — all of us, you and myself and everyone else, from the oldest of us to the newest — we all share a shared ideal, correct?”

“Huh?”

Hesitation, and then stumbling over his own words. “I—… Each of us has the same goal. Yes?”

“I sure _hope_ so! We wouldn’t be much of a team if not.”

Chuckle. “Yes, I agree. There lies your answer.”

Click-clack from within his coat; fidgeting with her beads again. Rikku makes a noise and sinks down further into herself. “You know somethin’ I don’t.”

“I know many things that you don’t. I’ve lived twice as long as you have and seen a great deal more things, been a great deal more places. Known and know a great deal more people.” Auron surprises himself with the persistence of his smile.

“Oh, shut up, y’know what I mean…”

“Perhaps. Perhaps it is hypocritical of a trained thief to accuse others of deception.”

Another one of those noises; high and wavering and tapering off into something that approximates a rasp. It only intensifies his grin.

Rikku tries again: “Be straight with me, okay? I just—… it’s scary. It’s _really_ scary. The entire thing with the Summoners is bad enough as-is, but—… it’s different when it’s family involved, y’know? When you have somebody you care about and love on the line.”

An errant twitch of the lip, reflective of years’ past. Three men enter Zanarkand, none come out alive. One reincarnates, another leaves his burdens with the third, a walking cadaver. Inherited weight, a life lived not for one’s self but for others’. Reluctant selflessness, altruism out of obligation. The smile fades.

“Yes,” Auron says, a touch softer than normal. “Yes, I understand that. Difficult to place any blame on you for that, with that in mind.”

“So…” Rikku trails off and releases a brief sigh. Eyes away from Auron and to the fire. “So promise me, okay? I just wanna hear it so I’m not guessing all the time. It sucks having to stand on my own two feet all the time, y’know?”

“Yes, I know.” The burden of solitude is one that all of the group shares, ironically — but Auron considers himself particularly familiar with it. Lost his brethren years ago and had wandered alone for years, with only the spawn of his idol as company.

And now Auron finds himself among the burdened and alone, weight distributed evenly and carried along their shared path by none and by all. No pain too great, no life unworthy of living, no sorrow that must go unfaced.

Auron takes a drink and coughs quietly into his fist. Peers at Rikku, head tilted off to the side. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Yeah, I guess so…” Not even a playful retort, and so Auron goes ahead and spits it out:

“Then yes. I promise that I have no intentions whatsoever of allowing Yuna to die, no matter how altruistic and noble the cause.”

There is only quiet for a few seconds, and then Rikku releases a sigh. “So what are we gonna do, then…? If Yunie doesn’t die then Sin keeps on going and going and going and—…”

“I do not know,” he admits. “But I’ve my confidence that we’ll walk out of Zanarkand alive — all of us, without the threat of Sin looming over.”

She snorts. “So it’s not just me who can’t come up with a better idea, huh?”

“Not in the slightest.” The return of his smile.

“...That makes me feel a little better. I think I can sleep easier since that won’t be keeping me up, y’know?” 

“Is that why you haven’t already broken out into a bout of snores before me?”

“Hey, c’mon, no _fair…!_ ” One of her beads comes flying out of the sleeve of his coat and pegs him in his temple. He winces. “You can’t just go back to poking fun at me right after we have this big moment, y’know!”

“And yet I just did.”

“You’re an ass, Auron…”

That’s what finally makes Auron laugh — not an exhale, not a scoff, not a chuckle, but a full-bellied chortle. It is contagious, and soon Rikku is giggling along with him. When the fit dies down he leans on one arm and peers at her.

“Is there anything else that you need?”

“Besides a bed and a big thing of water and for Sin to go away forever without anyone dying? Think I’m good.”

“Mm. Rest well, then.”

“Yeah.” Curling up and fussing about with his coat until it forms a makeshift shelter of shorts, though her eyes are clearly visible through one sleeve. Watching him, silently. Auron pretends that he does not notice.

“Good night, Auron.”

“Good night.”

* * *

The night eventually ends, as does Auron’s sleep — but Rikku does not awaken with him. Still tucked away in his coat, curled up like a feral animal, peaceful as anything can be within the spiral of death. She is a heavy sleeper — and heavy in general, both of which are things Auron learns when he plucks her off the ground and carries her on his back, arms around his neck and legs at his sides. 

The desert of Bikanel is vast, but he follows the direction of her footsteps with faith in her navigation abilities — a faith that turns out to be redundant, as when she awakens Rikku is kicking and screaming and _demanding_ that she know where the hell they are and how the hell he knew which direction to go.

She does not, however, insist that he put her down, and so he carries her like a shoopuf and follows her directions. Idle conversation, replies mumbled into his ear (or shouted), the occasional tightening of her hold around his neck. (“Can I keep the coat?” “No.” “Please please please please please _please?_ ” “Absolutely not.” “Why not?” “It doesn’t fit you.” “And? It hardly fits you, either…”)  
Eventually — hours later, days later — there are figures on the horizon. Towering mass of violet, splotches of red and gold mingling with black and blue, ebony and ivory. Spiked-up orange, meek shape of whites and blues…

And the boy, golden hair waving in the wind as he screams about how _It’s Auron and Rikku!_ and _We thought you two were dead!_ and charges across the plains towards them. _Lemme down, lemme down,_ and he does, and she goes bounding out in front of him, skinny legs kicking out from the flow of his coat as she runs away from him.

Rikku throws her head back behind him and yells to _Come on, what’re you waiting for?!_ and for a moment Auron can only sit and watch, quietly awed by her youth and the life within, the promise of a future. Auron is the past, old and dead and wearied, clinging onto life only out of a stubborn refusal to die.

And yet here they meet, coinciding and connecting in the present.


End file.
